


Digging for a Dream

by sailor8t



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailor8t/pseuds/sailor8t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night of Tabula Rasa, everyone's thoughts are dark and chaotic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Digging for a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Buffy and Her Friends are owned by Joss Whedon and a bunch of suits. I'm altering their realities for fun, not profit, as I own nothing and have the credit report to prove it.

You take your prospects and your pickaxe and you trudge down to the stream  
And you bloody your hands digging for your dream  
Indigo Girls, _Digging for Your Dream_

* * *

Willow laid her head against the wall and stared into space. She wanted to cry but couldn't. Maybe, just maybe, she was all cried out, but she doubted it since she was still alive. 'If that's what you call this,' she thought bitterly, adding the two words that hurt her more than any other: 'She promised.'

She being, well, there were several it could have been. Women disappointed her more times than she could count over the years. So had men, but she had come to expect that, even from Xander, who'd been there her entire life. By the time Giles announced he was leaving, Willow was numb. Everyone left. Why should he be different?

Willow knew there were things she should do. Things that needed to be done. But she couldn't raise the energy to close her eyes, much less get up and begin to deal with the minutiae of living. If it were her decision, her autonomic functions would shut down. Since it wasn't, her lungs continued to draw breath. Her heart, broken as it was, continued to beat. And her brain continued to think.

There was so much to think about. An entire life. Parts of others. The endings of several. The return of one.

It was supposed to make everything better. It was supposed to make them not hurt anymore. But it spun wildly out of control. One lie became another until none of them knew each other or themselves. The chemistry was still there; they were who they were at their cores, but not knowing the rest nearly killed all of them. Willow wished now that it had. Everyone's looks, their obvious pain and the following disappointment – not the anger she deserved – hurt her like nothing ever before.

So she sat in the darkest room in the house, as far as she could get from Dawn's angry sobs without leaving. Buffy was still out and Tara was gone, and even without the threat of Glory, Dawn couldn't be left alone. She was 15 and she was two at the same time. There was no one Willow could call for help. Giles' plane left hours ago, while Tara was removing every trace of herself from the house. Xander wasn't talking to her. Anya wanted to talk to her, and Willow could just imagine all she'd have to say, but wouldn't out of loyalty to Xander and Tara. Dawn certainly wasn't talking to her. And Buffy was gone. Again. Like the promises they'd made to each other over the years.

Willow tried to catalog them, but her logic refused to be a shield against her emotions, so she stared at nothing and tried to remember. It wasn't that there were so many promises that bound them. They were the same few, repeated so many times to each other in the past that they were to Willow a text more sacred than the Torah or the entire Encyclopedia Britannica.

Until Buffy entered her life, Willow knew she was destined to be no one. Not a wallflower, not even a bridesmaid, and certainly never a bride. She had two friends, both boys who treated her like a sister, and a mortal enemy who took every opportunity to belittle and demean her. She had absentee parents and a grandmother she missed. There was no one else, nothing except a tank of fish that doubled as a night light.

Then Buffy arrived, and it was like a light was turned on and forced away the shadows Willow lived in. Buffy said seize the day, so Willow did, and it changed her life completely. Buffy made her first promise to Willow that night, and when she kept it, Willow felt something inside change.

That night, Willow was awake for hours. It was the first of countless late nights she had since. She analyzed what happened, and what it meant, and made a decision that brought her here. In the dark, alone, waiting, like she had been so long ago. Except this time, no one was coming.

Not so long ago, Willow would have prayed. There were thousands of deities and demigods to petition, light and dark and all the in-between. Even now, they would answer. But without faith in herself, she couldn't seek that shelter. All she had were the voices in her head, some memories, and too many mistakes.

Buffy's promise held her there, against the wall. Willow wanted to believe. More than anything, she wanted to hold on to her faith in Buffy. She wanted Buffy to be the same, even though she wasn't. 'How could she be?' Willow asked herself, knowing the answer.

Buffy couldn't be the same, any more than Willow was after doing what she had. Any of the things she had in the past months. The darkness wasn't enough, and Willow dropped her head to her knees to hide. 'Can't hide from yourself,' she mocked. But she wanted to.

* * *

Buffy sat in a corner of the Bronze. The music was loud despite the crush of bodies dampening it. Like everything else, the sound hurt. Buffy was tired and wanted to go home, but couldn't make herself do that just yet. There was no peace there, either.

She felt Spike come in, felt his eyes searching for her. That made her tired, too. His constant presence, his pretension to know how she felt, his insistence on helping her were weights that she dragged like a prisoner's ball and chain. He was so earnest earlier, when they didn't know who they were. But she felt nothing except revulsion then, and it returned tenfold now, as he slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek.

"You all right, love?"

"Go away, Spike," Buffy said dully.

He looked at her and saw a ghost. Normally, the Slayer pulsed with power and passion, but tonight she was muted. "Come with me," he murmured.

"Go away," Buffy repeated. When he didn't move, Buffy jabbed her elbow into his chest.

A living man would have fallen to the floor. Spike chuckled. The game was on, and he loved to play. "That the best you got?" he asked suggestively.

Buffy ignored him. She was emotionally exhausted. That was worse than being physically tired. Rest could cure her aching joints and muscles, but would do nothing to salve the pain of being alive again, of realizing for the second time that she wasn't permitted to rest, that the shackles of destiny chained her to the Hellmouth even after death. Other Slayers got to die and be finished. She'd met many of them wherever it was she spent those months, in the moments her curiosity sent her roaming the ethereal plan. They'd traded stories, laughing at the failures of wannabe villains too cocksure of themselves to have a backup plan but never of that last moment or the thoughts that preceded it.

Spike leaned closer and nuzzled Buffy's neck. This time, her elbow drove him back two feet. "Bitch," he said indignantly.

Buffy turned to look at him, and said one more time, "Go away, Spike."

"You don't mean that," he said, and moved toward her. He stopped and looked down at the sharp pain in his chest. "Raising the stakes, are we?" he smirked.

"Last chance." Buffy didn't bother to look at him.

Spike considered for a few seconds before deciding that he'd rather live to try again another day. He backed away, refusing to look down at the tear in his shirt or the bright, burning pain behind it.

Buffy slid the stake back in to her jacket and turned back to the bar table. Her drink still sat there untouched. It was just a reason to be alone. She didn't want to drink. She never enjoyed the feeling alcohol gave her. Buffy needed to be in control, especially tonight, when all she wanted was to rip her world to pieces. 'Or maybe,' she mused, 'it would be easier to tear myself into pieces and give one to everyone.'

She rubbed her temples tiredly. Her thoughts spun out and came back and spun out again. Buffy knew she should just go home and fall into bed, but feared what she knew she would find. There would be Dawn, upset and confused, needing someone to be the adult she could rely on. Willow would be there, too, and Buffy didn't want to see her, either. She was too tired to be angry, too tired to have a scene, too tired to give Willow her anger or reassurance.

Tara, she knew, was gone. Buffy hoped she kept running, that Tara would somehow rescue herself from the mire of the Scooby gang. Xander's anger with Willow would fade, and Anya was a forgive-but-don't-forget kind of girl. She, too, would resume her regular relationship with Willow. Even Dawn would find a way to accept Willow again.

'Can I?' Buffy wondered. 'Can I not?'

* * *

Xander and Anya offered Tara the spare room in their apartment, the one they kept for the nights that one of the gang was too badly hurt to stay alone, but not injured enough to need a trip to the hospital. She refused it, shaking her bowed head. She didn't want to see their sympathy. The kindness they always showed her was dangerous tonight, more dangerous than vampires or whatever she might catch staying in Sunnydale's cheapest motel.

All Tara's thoughts began and ended with Willow. There was the blur of her life before Willow, and the agony of her betrayal, and the arc of time in between. Tara thought once, resting in Willow's arms, that nothing bad could ever happen again. She missed her mother and grandmother, but knew she would see them on the other side, and time, as promised, dulled the ache of their passings. And now, Willow was in her life. They had been through so much together in so short a time. Tara believed Willow would be with her forever.

But things started bad and went to worse and then far, far beyond the worst that Tara could imagine. What Glory did to her was bad. Watching Willow careen out of control was awful. She looked like Willow and sounded like her lover. Even her gentle care while Tara was befuddled and after was characteristic. There was something underneath all that, though, that frightened Tara in a primal way. The way Willow hesitated before shepherding them away after Glory tore down the dorm was one sign. Another was the way that Willow was always awake whenever Tara opened her eyes. The desperation behind Willow's gentle touches and soothing tones called to the tiny thing Glory left in Tara's brain.

It was still there. She could feel it, especially now when it was so hard to get a handle on her emotions. Tara had no idea how to react. She supposed she was still in shock at Willow's callous disregard for everything that once bound them. She asked so little of Willow, and her girlfriend's outright refusal to comply – ' _what if she couldn't?_ \- with one simple request wounded Tara deeply.

She felt guilty, too, that she didn't intercede before Willow reached a point where she wouldn't – ' _couldn't?'_ \- live her life without the convenience that magicks offered. Tara was angry at herself, too, for every thought that attempted to diminish Willow's responsibility for her actions. There was no difference, Tara thought angrily, between Willow and Faith. Want. Take. Have. Willow did those things, not caring that she broke her promises to Tara, that she broke Tara's heart, that she broke them.

Tara was thankful that the anger that flared when Xander broke the spell faded into the numbness that still kept her upright. She sat stiffly at the foot of the rented bed and wondered again why Willow wouldn't – ' _couldn't?'_ \- see that her actions affected everyone around her. She'd walked past Willow dozens of times as she gathered her things, and each time Willow's "oh poor me" vibe became stronger. It was like Willow no longer cared about anything except herself. She went through the motions of being Willow, but there was nothing under it.

Tara tried to order her thoughts. They were as jumbled tonight as they were right after Willow tore her from Glory, and as they had then, centered on Willow. She hoped that she didn't lose everything she gained because of Willow. Tara relied on their family as much as Willow. That word, once alien and hurtful, had become something joyful and sustaining, and Tara didn't want to surrender it. She wasn't sure she could, but she didn't want to bring more pain to those around her who'd seen so much.

She wrapped her arms around herself, a habit she thought long gone, and tears began to slide down her cheeks. Tara began to mourn her losses: faith, hope, trust, fidelity, belief that the next day would be better.

* * *

Xander sat on the couch with his head in his hands. He'd watched Tara and Willow implode, and things went downhill after that. They'd returned to the Magic Box to find a very freaked out Anya and Giles acting completely unlike himself. Buffy showed up eventually, with Spike following like a puppy on a leash, and Giles dropped his bombshell.

Xander watched, shocked, as Giles climbed into a cab and went away from them. He'd never thought he'd see the day that Giles left while Buffy was alive. Not that Buffy acted alive, not by a long shot. She looked terrible, worse than she ever did after a fight, and Xander worried, even after Buffy put her arm around Dawn's waist and led them away, that Buffy might just give up.

He wanted to shake all of them. Giles first, for leaving them in the lurch. Buffy needed Giles more than the rest of them combined, and he'd left without even looking Buffy in the eye. Willow, for doing yet another spell that nearly got them killed, and making Tara so angry and frustrated that she took her things and left. Buffy, for refusing to accept what couldn't be changed, like in the prayer that was so popular. Anya, too, but that would pass. It always did.

He wondered whether he should call to check on Dawn, but the late hour and his innate courtesy kept him on the couch. Anya was asleep, finally, worn out from the bunny attack and barrage of emotions that still confused her. Xander didn't think he would sleep tonight.

He kept seeing the look on Tara's face before she turned her back on Willow, and how Willow crumbled inside, just like when they were younger. This time, it was something worse than a missing Barbie or one of Cordelia's insults. This time, Xander couldn't think of any way to comfort her. He wanted to, but the look on Tara's face kept him wondering what, exactly, was wrong with Willow that she would toss aside the best thing that ever happened to her.

Xander worried about Buffy, too. She looked a thousand years old as she refused a ride home. He was sorry for the pain they caused her, and did anything and everything he could think of to help. There wasn't any magic potion to make pain go away, though. He'd grown up watching his parents try to drink theirs away, and as a result, recognized a coping mechanism when he saw one: Cordelia's attitude, Oz's escape into music, Anya's brittle tactlessness. Even his own gave him no comfort tonight. There was nothing to joke about.

They needed time. Living on the Hellmouth meant they didn't have any, though. There was never time to spare, never time to process what they'd been through before the next crisis loomed. This would be no different, and they would somehow stumble through it.

It made his heart ache, the loss of so much. There was no innocence left in any of them. Happiness was as far away as the Atlantic Ocean and would take as long to reach. Even breathing, he suspected, was an agony for Buffy, and Willow's misery compounded it, Dawn's multiplied it as it spread through them before evaporating into the hollow promise of another sunny California day.

* * *

Willow didn't move when she heard the front door open. She knew it was Buffy, and that she was the last person Buffy wanted to see tonight. Maybe ever. Willow wanted Buffy to yell at her. She deserved at least that for the mess she'd made of everyone's lives despite her good intentions. 'Road to hell,' her inner voice chuckled mirthlessly. Willow remained absolutely still and listened to Buffy slowly climb the stairs. She heard Buffy check on Dawn, the soft back and forth of conversation, and the snick of the closing door.

She sat and waited for the house to become completely silent, but it didn't. Buffy was looking for her, methodically searching the second floor before coming down the stairs again. Her gait was slow, and she periodically called Willow's name in a tone just above a whisper.

Willow knew she couldn't hide from the Slayer. She was certain it was the Slayer who sought her, and not her friend. The only reason she could think Buffy wanted to speak to her was to tell her to gather her belongings and leave.

She deserved that. She deserved more, but Buffy wouldn't give her those things. Buffy had yet to spill her anger at Willow over being resurrected, and Willow could tell by how she moved that Buffy was too tired to start tonight. She was checking in with Willow, like she did every night after patrol.

Willow kept her head down even when she knew Buffy was standing in front of her. She couldn't bear to look at Buffy and see in her eyes all the pain she was responsible for. Buffy was her best friend, and Willow's inability to let her go was another thing Willow refused to forgive herself.

So she sat, pretending to be asleep, wishing to be anywhere else, for the long seconds that Buffy stood over her. She waited until Buffy left to breathe a regular breath, and waited until Buffy was in the shower to creep upstairs.

* * *

Buffy moved through the fog of her exhaustion. She drifted to her home, head down, lost in thought. Most of them centered on the future she didn't want but was stuck with. There was her crappy job, the social worker who threatened to take her sister, the pile of bills that never got any smaller. There were vampires and demons that wanted to make a name by killing a Slayer or opening the Hellmouth. There were the people she lost to indecision, the one taken from her by a random cellular mutation, the one who left because she relied on him too much. There were the people still here.

Those were the ones who worried her the most. Xander, she knew, would be fine. So would Anya. Even Tara had a chance, if she stayed away from them. But Dawn always made her panic. Buffy didn't have a clue how to be a parent to her sister. She wasn't even good at being a sister. Dawn needed so much, and Buffy worried that she didn't have it to give. She barely had enough of herself to get through a day.

Then there was Willow. Willow always churned through her thoughts. Willow looked out for her, and after her. Willow gave her pep talks, tended her injuries, listened to her. Willow was her big gun. Had been ever since she returned Angel's soul. Willow was the one who had answers, and when she didn't, assured Buffy she'd find them.

Buffy found herself on her porch. She unlocked the door and let herself in. She flicked the porch light off before re-engaging the locks. Then she stood and listened. The house was silent, and Buffy hoped everyone was in bed. It was where she wanted to be, sleep being the closest she could get to oblivion.

Buffy trudged upstairs and cautiously opened Dawn's door. Her light was still on, and Dawn's face showed evidence of recent tears. Buffy shuffled across the room and sat on the bed. She tried to smile at Dawn and couldn't. She was too tired, Dawn too sad.

"Go to bed, Buffy," Dawn said finally, worry clear in her voice.

"I will," Buffy reassured her.

"I hate Willow."

"No, you're mad at her. It's ok."

"She made Tara leave."

"I know."

"Why did she do that, Buffy? Why did she take our memories?"

"I don't know." Buffy looked at her lap.

Dawn grabbed Buffy's hand and squeezed. "I'm glad you came back."

"Thanks." Buffy surprised herself by leaning over to kiss her sister's forehead. "Go to sleep now."

Dawn nodded. "Night."

"Good night," Buffy answered, distracted, and got to her feet.

She went next to Willow's room. It looked odd with Tara's things gone, almost like a guest room. Willow wasn't there, either, and Buffy began to worry. She was certain Willow wouldn't leave Dawn alone. They'd agreed, in one of their first conversations after Buffy came back, that Willow would continue to look after Dawn. It offered a tiny bit of comfort, some consistency, things that Dawn needed.

All Buffy wanted was to make sure that Willow was, for the moment, all right, so she could go to bed. She didn't want to be up all night worrying that Willow was out finding some other way to get into trouble. There'd been enough today to last for months. Buffy wanted a shower and her bed. Instead, she was going through her house methodically searching for someone she wasn't sure how she felt about.

When she found Willow, Buffy couldn't believe she'd overlooked her. Willow was on the floor, sitting with her back to the breakfast bar, curled around her knees. Buffy felt the waves of pain and remorse coming from Willow, and stood in front of her, waiting for Willow to look at her. Neither said anything, and the seconds piled into minutes while they silently shared their misery. Buffy, all ready exhausted, grew tired of waiting and left.

She went upstairs again, into the bathroom. She didn't bother with the light, just stripped and stuffed her clothes into the hamper before turning to the tub. Buffy adjusted the water temperature and climbed in.

The hot water soothed her, and for a while she stood and let it beat against her skin. When it began to cool, Buffy cleaned herself. She moved quickly, finishing before the water lost too many more degrees of warmth.

Tonight, routine was a good thing. She didn't have to think while he body carried her through the motions of drying, combing, brushing, dressing. She fell into bed, and into sleep.

She woke to a noise that didn't belong in the house's background. Buffy sat up, listening, and heard it again. It was someone moving quietly, sneaking. Buffy got out of bed and cautiously opened her bedroom door. She stuck her head out first, looking.

Willow was on the stairs, struggling with a bag. Buffy gave up being stealthy and stepped into the hallway. "What are you doing?"

Willow jumped. "You scared me," she said, trying to get her breathing back under control.

"What are you doing?" Buffy repeated.

"I'm leaving." Willow turned away and continued down the steps.

Buffy followed her. "What?"

Willow reached the end of the stairway and turned back to face Buffy. She looked up at her, glad that the darkness hid the details that endeared Buffy to her. "I'm leaving," she said again.

Buffy moved quickly down the steps and picked up Willow's bag. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and go to bed." She turned up the stairs quickly, the spark of her anger at Willow driving her.

Willow was behind her, and tried to grab the handle, even though she knew she couldn't wrestle it from Buffy.

Buffy continued to move. At the end of the hall, she opened the door to Willow's room. She went in and put the bag at the foot of the bed before turning to Willow. She grabbed Willow's upper arms to keep her in place. "I'm too tired for this, Will. Go to bed. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"No, we won't. We never talk about anything any more."

Buffy cut her off before Willow could begin babbling. "Just go to bed."

"I can't sleep in here."

Buffy sighed. "Fine." She released one of Willow's arms and turned her. She propelled Willow out the door, down the hall, and into her own room. "Bed. Now," she said, with a tiny shove.

Willow fell back onto the bed and immediately sat up. Before she could say anything, Buffy added, "Take off your shoes," and yawned.

Willow, not thinking, untied and removed one sneaker, then the other. She sat on the bed, trying to figure out what was happening.

Buffy yawned again. She reached out and pulled Willow down. "Sleep," she ordered, and flung one arm across Willow's prone form. She slid closer to the redhead and readjusted her grip. Willow wasn't leaving, at least not until they talked. Or fought. Or found a way to pretend that none of the badness of the past months and the worseness of the last hours happened.

* * *

Willow lay awake. She couldn't sleep. She was too hot, fully dressed, with Buffy pressed against her back, Buffy's breath tickling her neck. And she couldn't move. Buffy made sure of that. A few minutes into sleep, Buffy slid her other arm under Willow and threw one leg over hers. Willow could hardly move, except to breathe.

Buffy didn't let her leave, and Willow wondered why. She hadn't asked Willow to stay, just refused to let her leave. 'Oh, like you'd leave now,' her inner voice snarked, and Willow had to agree. Even if she could, even if Buffy rolled away from her, Willow would stay until Buffy was awake.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Buffy ordered earlier. 'Is that what I'm doing?' Willow wondered. For a second, she thought that she had the right, until Tara's face flashed in front of her, full of knowing and hurt. Tara said nothing as she pushed herself away from Willow and walked away. Xander tried to pretend that he hadn't seen, but he and Dawn couldn't miss what happened.

'I just wanted everyone to be happy.'

And this was what it got her, like nearly all of her non-battle spells. Any time she tried to manipulate emotions, things went horribly, horribly wrong, something Willow conveniently forgot when she wanted to do it again. Her increasing magical competence blinded her to all but the desired outcome.

Granted, she didn't have good role models for handling emotional issues. Her parents, even when they were home, were distant at best. Xander's parents drank, beat each other, and him. Buffy's mother was divorced, and struggled with Buffy's adolescence as much as with her Slaying. Giles was by nature and upbringing reserved, and when he showed more than a modicum of emotion, they all worried for their immediate survival. Jesse's parents were the closest to normal she'd seen, and after he died, they left Sunnydale.

Until Tara, no one around her talked about anything important. Even she and Buffy spoke only in passing about their feelings. There was too much to deal with in the present to plan for a future that most likely wouldn't occur. Except that it did, leaving them like Xander, drifting, vulnerable, and confused. It was worse now. There was no closure for any of them, ever. There was desertion, resurrection, and dust. Each day bled into the next, terror following them into dreams, and it never stopped.

Willow feared what would happen if it did. Stop. Buffy, she knew, would return to that happy place. When their times arrived, Xander, Dawn and Tara would join her there. Willow didn't know about Giles, whose past was a murky as her own thoughts, and had doubts about Anya. She had misgivings about her own hereafter, especially after snatching Buffy from the warrior's afterlife.

Buffy mumbled something and squeezed Willow closer. Willow stroked Buffy's arm for a few seconds before wrapping her hand over Buffy's. She didn't want to disturb her friend's sleep any more than she had. It was another thing to apologize for, the latest in the long line of errors that was her life. There had to be a way to make it better for all of them. But she didn't have a clue what it was.


End file.
